


Bad Moon Blues

by TheWritingMustache



Series: Bad Moon Series [5]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Abstergo!Desmond, Alternate Universe, Apple Shenanigans, F/M, M/M, New York City, Werewolves, part 3 of 3, the story I've been waiting four years to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingMustache/pseuds/TheWritingMustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York, New York, is everything they say, and no place Desmond would rather be. It's good to be back, with new digs, a new job, and oh yeah, a new pack to get into trouble with. What could possibly go wrong in the city that never sleeps?</p><p>The third and final installment of the Bad Moon series. Contains spoilers for Open Season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Moon Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Why hello there friends, you must be confused right now. You're probably thinking to yourself, this isn't Open Season. And hey, Open Season isn't done yet....is it? YOU'RE RIGHT! OS is not a completed story! So why is this here? Because I want it to be. I'm just simply jumping the gun and working on the third story before I finish the second one.
> 
> Why?
> 
> Because I wrote myself into a corner with Open Season, and even to this day, I don't know how to get out of it. Does that mean I've given up on it? nope! It will be completed eventually, but in the mean time, I'm going to write this one on the side because I feel like it, and I've been waiting four years to write it.
> 
> Read it anyway.

Three months after November 30th

 

Desmond didn’t quite understand why everyone hated taking the subway. Okay well, he could see why, but for some reason, it didn’t quite bother him as much as everyone else back at Base. They said it smelled (it did), and it was too cramped (it was), and it was loud (also true). But it had been all that when Desmond was here years ago as a bartender working nights. It felt like nothing had really changed. Or maybe his tolerance levels were just better than everyone else’s. And maybe it helped that he lived here before and was used to everything.

But that’s what he gets for being surrounded by whiney Templar werewolves all day and night.

 

x-X-X-x

 

Bad Weather. He always felt extremely nostalgic standing outside the place. Last he was here, he was on the job, serving up drinks left and right, and one particular customer ended his career there. Desmond could still picture Ezio’s smug face when he turned around and saw his cousin standing on the other side of the counter. Sometimes it felt like if he walked in there now, his cousin would be waiting for him just inside, ready to take him back to the Assassins.

But he hadn’t done it yet, and he wouldn’t any time soon. Desmond turned away from the bar to head further down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, ear buds tucked into his ears. It was a brisk, late winter night in the Big Apple, yet he hardly felt the chill through the light jacket he wore. It felt like after all that time in chilly, snowy Aperton, he felt way more desensitized to the cold.

Well yeah okay he had experienced winter in New York too, but the point was-

He walked down the road to a club. He could hear the booming of the music before he saw the front door. There was a line of people along the walls of the buildings, and Desmond breezed past them without a second thought. The bouncer stopped him at the door, a tall, muscled man with sunglasses on. At eight at night. Desmond rolled his eyes, but pulled out his special I.D card for him. The bouncer looked it over, and then quickly handed it back and stepped aside. Desmond put the card away and walked into the club. He strode past the bar, past grinding bodies on the dance floor, and incredibly pretentious twenty-something year olds smooching it up with each other.

The client was at a booth towards the back, a darker corner of the club that made it this whole job already too perfect as it was. The client himself, a balding man that belonged on the board of a company than in a club waited for him, sipping nervously at a beer. Desmond smirked as he slid into the opposite side of the booth as him.

“Hi,” Desmond’s smirk widened into a toothy grin. “My employer thanks you for being able to meet me tonight.”

“This isn’t the place I would have picked for a meeting,” the client said stiffly. He reached under the table and pulled out a slick briefcase that he placed on the table. “Everything your employer has requested is inside.”

Desmond’s grin widened even further as he pulled the briefcase towards him. He popped it open and shuffled through its contents. Perfect. They were all perfect. He assumed it was perfect, he barely listened to a word Vidic told him. All he heard was, go here, get the thing, and don’t screw this up, Mr. Miles. But he trusted his gut on this one.

“Is that all to your satisfaction?” the client asked. Desmond nodded, reached into his pocket, and handed the man a slip of paper. “What’s this?”

“Further instructions,” Desmond said. “We trust you can handle that.”

“M-More?” the client stuttered. “Is he mad? I can’t keep this up forever, he knows that!”

“Well, too bad. Either get this done for us, lose your job if you need to. We wouldn’t hesitate to feed you to the wolves, and trust me, there are no worse fates.”

Now this was the best part of the job. Desmond preferred intimidation over anything else. And this is why he was so valuable to Abstergo, he could actually talk to people and get what he wanted without flipping out on them. Couldn’t send one of their precious big bad wolves to do his job, they were above that anyway. But Desmond still liked making random ass guys cower where they stood; give them that feeling of a deer caught in the headlights, the pitiful prey before the ferocious beast. It was really just too much fun doing that.

The client gulped and nodded, tucking the paper away. Desmond snatched up the contents of the briefcase and stuffed them on his person. He didn’t need no stickin briefcase. “We’ll be in touch,” Desmond said as he stood. “Again, thanks for meeting me here. Enjoy your beer.”

And he left without another word. He waltzed out of the club to the beat of the music, ear buds still tucked in.


End file.
